


Blaze of Glory

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Episode Ignis DLC, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Hallucinations, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Object Insertion, Psychological Torture, Shapeshifting, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22894297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Rather than follow this flotsam and float away to a watery grave, why not come with me? What do you say?What could Ignis answer besides yes? If he was the price of Noct's survival, of course he'd pay.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52
Collections: Ignis whump February exchange





	Blaze of Glory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saretus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saretus/gifts).



> > Going out in a blaze of glory  
> My heart is open wide  
> You can take anything that you want from me  
> But you cannot take my soul (The Alarm https://youtu.be/zzJRDjpPS_I)

_Rather than follow this flotsam and float away to a watery grave, why not come with me? What do you say?_

Ardyn extended his hand together with the offer, his smile promising nothing good. But Ignis was frantic to protect Noct from danger, and what better protection than removing Ardyn and his murderous rage? If he was the price to be paid for Noct's safety, so be it. He didn't have the strength now – or even at his best, he had to admit – to fight Ardyn and win. Playing along was his best bet.

He reached up to clasp that hand and let himself be roughly dragged to his feet. He hurt all over, having been battered and bruised and half-drowned in his haste to reach the altar, and he let Ardyn see him stumble, his other arm pressed across his stomach as he tried to stand straight. He looked pathetic, he was sure; he felt ghastly. But the theatrics gave him the opportunity to palm the Ring of the Lucii and slip it safely into the armiger. They couldn't risk having the ring stolen, or washed into the sea. When Noct woke, he'd know Ignis had taken care of it.

(Ignis would do his best not to die, of course. But he suspected Ardyn planned to use him to bait a trap for Noct. It was what he imagined he would do, in his place.)

Ardyn shoved Ignis into the cold metal hands of his MT soldiers, who twisted Ignis' arms behind his back and half-marched half-dragged him to a waiting airship. As soon as they boarded, the ramp was raised and Ignis was alone amongst enemies. But Noct was safe.

The trip took hours, and the cold was brutal. Ardyn sat in the forward compartment, chatting amiably with the pilots to judge by his gestures, while Ignis was left to stand in the grip of the MTs. His muscles stiffened and his thoughts slowed, dulled by misery and discomfort. He kept losing his footing, despite the ride being relatively smooth. He was hungry, he needed to relieve himself, he was exhausted... he supposed Ardyn meant to wear him down with physical stress.

When they arrived they disembarked on a wide plain before a military base built into the mountains before them. Ardyn turned his charming vociferousness onto Ignis, speaking highly of the research done there by his good friend and colleague, who Ignis would be meeting soon. He digressed into an aside about the charming local wildlife, and what a pity the Scourge was making daemons of both man and animal. The wind sweeping down the frozen mountainsides cut through Ignis, and he barely had the strength to drag his feet through the knee-high snow as he stumbled after Ardyn, while the MTs rattled behind him in mindless obedience.

They entered the base through a gradually sloping tunnel, and Ignis was grateful for respite from the wind and the cold – though he was certain Ardyn was playing a calculated game of keeping him off-balance, and if he felt comfortable now, that was only intended to make him that much more miserable when that comfort was ripped away.

But he was led to a small room with a bed and blankets, and a soldier – human, not MT – showed Ignis the shower, provided him with a change of clothes and took away his uniform (and his phone), and said he'd have dinner brought in shortly. Even warm water felt like liquid fire against Ignis' chilled skin, and every inch of him was decorated with bruises and abrasions. He had broken bones, he was sure: several ribs and a clavicle. He reached out for the armiger, to see how many potions and elixirs were left after the battle. Fewer than there had been that morning, which was a relief. By now, Noct's injuries should have been taken care of, as well as any Gladio and Prompto might have suffered. He tried to think strategically about whether to heal his injuries or not. Did he need to be in top condition to deal with whatever Ardyn planned to do with him, or would he be making himself vulnerable to scrutiny – and worse – if Ardyn wanted to toy with him while he was weakened and in pain?

In the end, he allowed himself one flask. He rationalized that by taking it, he was signaling to the others that he was alive. He wouldn't want Noct to worry, after all. And he was able to drop immediately into heavy sleep the instant the pain abated.

He woke as he always did, his eyes snapping open at five on the dot. The door to his room was locked from the outside and the lights were off, but he did his morning calisthenics, taking care not to coddle the soreness that lingered from his injuries. He took a sponge bath and styled his hair, and wondered if Ardyn would have his clothes returned to him. The military athletic wear he'd been given was warm and functional, but he'd feel underdressed if he was expected to interact with Ardyn in sweats.

Though he could easily imagine Ardyn wanting him off-balanced by his own primness and sense of propriety, in the same was he was bothered by the way the world blurred and skewed around him with the loss of his glasses. 

The lights were put on at what he assumed was six, and his guard led him out, through corridors and up stairs, to a formal dining room. Ignis knew enough about Niflheim's fine art to recognize that the paintings on the wall included an Ampelos still life and a landscape by Eisen – perhaps very good reproductions of the famous artists, but that still suggested just how highly the Empire valued its chancellor, who was waiting for Ignis, seated at the head of the table.

"Good morning," Ignis said, giving Ardyn a nod – of acknowledgment, not of deference.

Ardyn waved his hand to indicate the seat to his right, and Ignis sat as directed. He ate the food before him, even though he was regaled with the detailed story of the ingredients' origins – hydroponic vegetables grown in greenhouses, and cloned meat that he was assured didn't come from the _human_ clones.

"The ones the Empire uses to manufacture Magitek troopers," Ardyn added, as if further elaboration was something Ignis was eager for. "Like your little sharpshooter companion." He paused and poked a sausage with his fork pensively, until it was leaking juices through the skin. "At least, I've always been assured the meat isn't human. But well, one never knows. I find it best not to eat at all, but I imagine you want to keep your strength up."

One of the things Ignis most despised about Ardyn was that he was usually honest, but in a way that was invariably self-serving and cruel. A man of no consequence, but a daemon of great notoriety. He left out information which would have been crucial in making informed decisions – hiding his identity and his powers, for example, or discussing the food Ignis was eating at great length, but not bothering to mention that it was drugged.

He only realized after a pleasant lassitude had already clouded his thoughts and he found himself smiling foolishly at Ardyn. "Oh," he said, his head clearing momentarily as fear spiked through him. With a shaking hand he set down the fine porcelain cup and the exquisite coffee it contained.

Ardyn gave him an encouraging wave of the hand. "Far too late for worries now," he said. "But perhaps it's time to turn the conversation to more, shall I say, _meaty_ topics. Tell me about your childhood."

Ignis felt for some reason that he should keep silent and be wary, but he heard himself start to ramble anyway, eager for Ardyn's attention and approval. He poured the entire force of his attenuated willpower into protecting Noct and hiding the whereabouts of the ring. Let Ardyn accumulate all the trivial details of his family and upbringing, his failures and successes. Ignis was no one special; just bait in a trap being laid, a thing to be toyed with until it could be discarded. Ardyn had no reason to care about him.

But oh, how he thirsted for him.

As the drug's effect heightened Ignis found the world around him beginning to warp, much as it did when he was Confused. Time thickened around him like a syrup, colors intensifying and sparking like fireworks if he moved his head. His limbs were heavy and distant, unresponsive.

He was aware of being hauled to his feet and nearly toppling over from dizziness; and then of lying down, the sound of things falling and being swept away, his own voice trying to ask what was happening, sudden cold and equally sudden pain, as if he was being eviscerated. _Fucked_ , part of him suggested, but he didn't understand what that meant. He'd been eating breakfast. He made the great efffort to turn his head to the side and saw his cup shattered in its saucer, a dark stain of coffee spreading across the white tablecloth.

The whole table was shaking, and he couldn't get away from the hammering thrusts that felt like they were gouging the core of him out. His eyes burned, his throat felt gritty and raw, and everyone kept mocking and belittling him – Ardyn, Cor, his father, Clarus. His body convulsed in an agonizing orgasm while King Regis berated him for his weakness, and then he had to look up through watering eyes at Noct's appalled face while he tried to stammer out an apology sufficient for the magnitude of his betrayal.

He'd wanted this, he was certain of that, but his mind whirled with distress as he tried to imagine _why_. He fought against the lassitude of the drug to move, to get away, to find reprieve, but his body only jerked under the assault. He had no control over it at all.

He tried to slip away in his thoughts, but he couldn't resist the chorus of familiar voices recalling hm to himself and his disgusting position. Worse even than the helplessness was the sting of shame, disapproval, failure.

The last thing he recalled was Noct standing over him, hair and clothes in wild disarray, saying, _This hurts me more than it does you_ , which Ignis believed wholeheartedly, and then, _A fitting death would be as sheath to your own weapon, would it not?_

Ignis didn't understand until he felt the agony of having a razor-sharp blade pushed slowly up inside of him, all the way until the icy metal of the handguard pressed against his flesh like a brand.

He was grateful to Noct for allowing him to escape from having to live with his memories. His body convulsed, and the unyielding metal inside him cut deeper. His vision was fading, but he kept his eyes on Noct as long as he could.

He died.

And then he woke up.

His first thought was that there'd been a terrible mistake. He'd earned his punishment; he deserved to die. He rolled over on his side and vomited into a pan held in place by an attendant. Pain radiated out from his abused arse and lacerated guts as he heaved, but this torment had a different quality to it. He'd been healed, he thought with horror, or at any rate his body was in the process of healing.

He couldn't get the image of Noct's disgust out of his head.

When the nausea abated, he was put on an IV drip. He wasn't strapped down, and he was in control of his arms and legs again. He could get up and try to make his escape... outside, in the snowy Niflheim mountains, wearing only a patient's gown and shoeless. He'd freeze to death long before he found Noct and could beg for his forgiveness.

He wanted that, and therefore it was yet another symptom of his appalling dereliction of duty. He fanned that spark of anger against himself until it flowed through his veins along with the medicine. He had to stay alive. He had sworn _vows_.

When the doctor came to poke at him and explain how he needed to care for his injuries, Ignis listened and nodded. The magic needed time to work; until then, he had stitches and staples. He let himself be pulled up to sit at the edge of the bed – _Six above_ , how that hurt – and scuffed his feet into slippers. He stood and shuffled like an old man back to his room. His cell.

He wasn't allowed to shower, but he took a towel and scrubbed as much dried blood off his thighs as he could before crawling into bed and curling up around his pain.

His father came in the night to comfort him. He remembered now that his father was long dead, but he thirsted enough for the illusion of kindness that he let the man roll him over on his stomach and fuck him anyway. His voice, murmuring barbed praise, made Ignis want to cry like a child.

He fell asleep as soon as he heard the door shut. When he woke, he washed off the blood and come and avoided looking at himself in the mirror.

With his head clear, the drugs gone from his system, he was able to understand what was happening. Crownsguard received training about torture, including rape. He knew what to expect in terms of the physical and mental effects, and strategies for resisting and – theoretically – minimizing the harm. He also knew Ardyn possessed the ability to use magic to disguise himself as a near-identical simulacrum.

Logically, he knew Ardyn must have created his disguises based on his audience with the king, his encounters with all of them on the road, and the scant few photos stored on Ignis' phone. Violation upon violation, but Ignis – in his right mind – was at least sure that King Regis and his father were dead. Therefore, the harm done to him was at Ardyn's hands.

He just needed to convince his memories and his body to believe that.

But as days passed – so many that he lost count – and Ignis was violated in unimaginable ways and then healed of all evidence, logic became harder and harder to cling to.

Finally, in exhaustion, he allowed himself to give up resisting the illusions. In the hot secret core of him he clung to the belief that he'd sacrificed himself to save Noct, so it didn't matter if he learned to beg for papa's cock, or if he started to believe the man fucking his torn and bruised ass was truly someone besides Ardyn.

Let the good memories die, overwritten by horror. Accept the taint, and let his childhood become the fount of nightmares. Noct was free, alive and safe, and far from the monster behind the mask of Niflheim's chancellor.

One day, when Ardyn had had him, he made Ignis spit into a vial. Ardyn simply wanted the confirmation, he said, of what he knew to be true. Ten months prior to Ignis' birth, he'd attacked Insomnia on Founder's Day.

 _The fun I had_ , he said, with a smile that made Ignis wish he could crawl away.

When he was delivered to Verstael for an afternoon of experimentation, the scientist was even icier than usual.

"He hates you in such a particular way," Verstael said, eyeing Ignis with simmering anger. If Ignis could have returned Ardyn's attention – affection, if such was possible – to him, he would have; Verstael had been young, impressionable, and useful to Ardyn once. Even though he was old now, and the taint of Scourge ran through him, Verstael still loved the promise he saw in Ardyn. He too wanted to live forever and possess the power granted by the gods to the Lucian and Oracle lines. He was facing imminent death now, while Ardyn flaunted his eternal youth, and Ignis salted all Verstael's wounds of abandonment, betrayal, replacement.

Verstael had Ignis strapped down and immobile, and had instructed his technicians to insert fine needles under his fingernails and toenails, in his nipples and cock. The pain was already excruciating; Ignis knew he'd scream once electric current was applied. Verstael had told him his muscles were strong enough that his convulsions might break bones. _You'll be healed when it's done, of course,_ he said. _This is just research for a paper I'm working on._

The technicians performed three trials in the morning, left Ignis on the gurney during their lunch break, and then returned, sated and drowsy, for the next four.

The needles were removed when Ignis had finished shaking, and the blood was blotted away. He'd cracked two teeth despite the mouthguard. Verstael had them pulled, and stuffed cotton in the sockets.

Before curatives were supplied – but after they'd been placed on the stainless-steel countertop, within eyesight – Ardyn came down to hear the results of Ignis' genetic test.

It was as he'd said. Ignis had no choice but to believe him.

"Your mother never knew, I assure you," Ardyn said. He brushed Ignis' hair off his sweat and tear-stained face, and said he'd cure him as soon as Ignis was well enough to kneel on the floor and suck him off. Until then, he kept _talking_ , which was another kind of torture. Ignis had loved his mother so much; now that Ardyn had planted the insidious seeds, he had to wonder if she'd ever known she'd been raped; if Ardyn had revealed his deception to her, if she'd had to live with the shame and the fear. If she'd ever truly been able to love Ignis. "She got such a charming child from the arrangement, and I – " He gave Ignis a smile that stretched out to the sides monstrously. "Oh, you've no idea how amused I was when Regis put you in charge of his accursed spawn."

Ignis knew that allowing himself to think of Noct was his greatest weakness. He could not afford to hope, or to rage, or to yearn for salvation. He rolled to his side and spat the wet bloody gauze out, and then forced his body to sit. Once seated, to stand, and then to kneel.

"Or you could call me Your Majesty," Ardyn suggested, watching Ignis fumble with the placket for his trousers. His fingers were tipped with dried blood, and the electric current had carved odd channels through his body. Some spots were numb, others burned with heat or cold, and some muscles were still twitching.

But that was good, Ignis thought. His body was giving him diversions to focus on. He freed Ardyn's cock and set about with the mechanics of giving oral pleasure, a skill that he'd never acquired before and which he was trying not to perform well. Ardyn mistook his haste as a reaction to his goading about Ignis' parentage, and as Ignis bobbed his head, thinking more of the agony in his mouth than the cock, he told a long and fanciful story about how Ignis' mother was in bed. As he spoke, he let his form morph again into that of Ignis' father.

Ignis thought about his teeth, how many more would crack before this game had played out. He didn't know what Ardyn wanted with him. Which was for the best, he supposed: that way he wouldn't be tempted to surrender in a moment of weakness.

After what felt like an hour, Ardyn yanked his cock out, grabbing a handful of Ignis' hair and holding him still as he came on his face, the filthy heat of his come mixing with his tears as it slid down his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt. Ignis could barely force his stiff jaw to close. 

Ardyn waved a technician in, and Ignis was cured. He welcomed the return of wholeness and health, but he still remembered, and feared, and loathed how close he was to being willing to do anything, no matter how disloyal or degrading, to not endure that again. Ardyn took him to dine with Verstael, who wrinkled his nose at Ignis' unwashed face. As if he'd asked for... that.

Ignis was shown to his cell for the night, and he wrapped himself up in his blanket, trying to savor the comfort of privacy and warmth. He didn't even hurt anymore, so it'd be foolish of him to not take the opportunity to sleep.

He woke himself up screaming, unable to remember if he'd been visited in the night or not, and then lay awake until soldiers came to deliver him to another day at Verstael's hands.

One day, Ignis started crying before the needles were even inserted, and couldn't make himself stop. He called for Ardyn when he didn't have the mouthguard in, and annoyed Verstael into slapping him on three separate occasions, hard enough to loosen two more teeth.

Ardyn finally appeared right after the lunch break reprieve. "I've overseen the completion of your Immortalis program," he said. "The fruition of your quest, my dearest and oldest companion."

Verstael set his tablet and stylus down hastily, his eyes alight. "We shall tear down the gods themselves, you and I."

He stood, clasping Ardyn's arm in camaraderie, and Ardyn returned the embrace. Then, as they turned to depart, he drew a dagger and drove it into Verstael's back, sawing it up along his spine with a force that made Verstael go up on his toes as he gurgled and twisted, trying in vain to get away.

"Eternal life is a curse of the gods, not a blessing," Ardyn said, pulling the blade free and letting the body fall. On the floor, Verstael scrabbled his fingernails against the tiles. His breathing was harsh, and he seemed to be trying to speak. Ardyn's name, perhaps, or some plea for mercy. "You are no longer useful." He knelt to wipe the blood on the blade off on the sleeve of Verstael's robes, and then turned to look over his shoulder at Ignis, with that inhuman smile that made his blood run cold. "Your little yellow-haired companion was a clone stolen from this facility two decades ago. Will he mourn his father, do you think? Or the hundreds of thousands of clone brothers and sisters whose daemonified bodies became the Magitek soldiers which you've so gleefully slaughtered?"

Ignis knew that he should have something to say about that, sharp defiant words. But his tongue was a heavy weight in his mutilated mouth, and he was mesmerized by the spreading pool of Verstael's blood, the scarlet stain tainted by the ink-black ooze of scourge, and the glitter of the lab lights on the dagger's blade. He wondered if that was the same weapon that Ardyn had tortured him with; it was likely. 

"I suppose you and I ought to be going," Ardyn said, standing in an equally fluid, poisonous way. "Rather than contemplating the myriad responsibilities and burdens of fatherhood."

He dropped the dagger and held his hand out to Ignis with a flourish. Ignis was bone-deep terrified to take it, but the knowledge of what would be done to him if he refused impelled him to reach out and allow his hand to be clasped.

"Whither then, we must be going." Ardyn's gaze was ravenous, devouring Ignis' turmoil. He looked so pleased with himself. Ignis' head swam, and he widened his stance instinctively, lowering his center of gravity to keep from falling. He was as frozen as a statue, all his senses muffled as the world around him dimmed.

Then a moment later, he found himself lying on a plate metal floor inside a vast, empty complex. The air was icy and smelled of ozone, with an underlying taint of death and daemons. As he forced himself to his feet, he noted he was dressed in his own clothes, for which he was sickeningly grateful, and a quick check revealed he had access to the armiger once again.

"Where are we?" he asked. He doubted this was the same facility. There was some horror in knowing that he'd been dressed, manipulated, and moved about like a mannequin, absent from himself for an unknown number of hours. Days, perhaps. But not knowing what potential indignities he'd endured... was in its own way a relief.

Ardyn was there – of course he was – to smile and play at being helpful. "You have to ask? Why – Zegnautus Keep, of course." And then he added, as if he'd absentmindedly forgotten and had suddenly been reminded, "I believe Noctis has just now arrived in the city. I must admit, I'm very much looking forward to witnessing your touching reunion and appraising him of just how far you have fallen. Of the many ways you enjoy abasing yourself."

Ignis had a vivid flashback of Noct's hands on his throat, Noct in him, Noct coming down his throat, his blood on Noct's skin, and how very _disappointed_ Noct had been with him. Every time. Over and over.

So doubtless what Ardyn said was true, but if Ignis was just an empty shell unworthy of respect or care, then it hardly mattered what became of him, now did it?

As he made his slow way toward where Ardyn had indicated the Crystal was held, he tried to pull his thoughts together, but separating memories from falsehoods and lies from truth was impossible. He was uncertain how much time had passed; he felt as if he'd been imprisoned for months, but if Noct was just now arriving then perhaps it'd only been a handful of days. No wonder Noct despised him for his weakness.

Gralea was cold, and he had goosebumps. He shivered, and his head throbbed, distracting him. He saw more visions, though he supposed they were more properly hallucinations, showing him Ardyn's youth centuries ago. The phrase _vengeance upon his own blood_ echoed in his mind, and in a moment of clarity he realized _of course_. Ardyn stood to gain nothing by claiming Ignis' parentage, but if he was truly immortal, he could certainly be the father, perhaps, of the Founder King. Denied royalty by the Crystal, turned into the lord of darkness and forced to wait for the birth of the King of Light.

The voice followed him as he gave Ardyn chase, telling him about light and the crystal, about how Noct was meant to banish the scourge, paying for peace with his life.

When he found Ardyn, he let him grandstand, working himself up into a wrathful passion, while Ignis forged all his fears and desires into one act of will. In an instant when Ardyn was distracted by flaunting his own power as a Lucis Caelum, Ignis snatched the Ring of the Lucii from the armiger and slipped it on.

Immense power surged through him, filling up all his hollows with the demands of the past Lucian kings and queens, but it was no worse than anything he'd endured at Verstael's hands. Perhaps that had been the purpose of his experiments, an inoculation against the agony of divine blessing.

 _Why should we aid you?_ he was asked, his skin sizzling at the question.

 _You're not of the blood,_ another pointed out. _You're no one. You have no right._

Their judgment didn't hurt half as much as the terror of Noct walking into Ardyn's trap, and he threw those images at their armored faces in his head. He would do anything for Noct, defend him until his last breath. They were right: he didn't matter. But he was the one standing between the monster and the True King he'd sworn his loyalty to.

 _Ignis,_ said one voice, fainter than the rest, and so familiar that Ignis nearly threw up as poisonous memories conjured pain and humiliation. _What has happened to you?_

He couldn't answer that and still be worthy of even a drop of their favor; he did his best to empty himself even further, surrendering all but his razor-honed will. Fire flowed up under his skin from the ring, shining through his cracks like golden lightning. It hurt, but he'd been hurt worse. Ardyn had made him powerless; this was strength.

His face began to burn, his vision darkening until the only thing he could see was Ardyn, who looked surprised and then – for a moment – like he pitied Ignis.

That was not something he could bear. Ignis grabbed his daggers and threw himself into the unwinnable fight.

When it was all over; when he'd taken all that was given to him and then had the arrogant temerity to demand even more, his life the price; when Ardyn was staggering away, leaving Ignis on the floor – Ignis had no regrets. He was at peace; he'd served well. All he wanted in his final moment was one last glimpse of Noct, and the gods – bastards that they were – granted him this one mercy.

" _Ignis_ ," Noct shouted, and Ignis turned his face toward that voice. He couldn't see through the shifting fog of his vision, but he could hear the familiar sound of Noct warping, and he reached his hand out. Noct took it immediately in both of his own, and all the tension in Ignis suddenly released. This was Noct, who'd been the child he'd loved like a brother, his best friend, his purpose in life. All he'd endured was worth hearing his name in Noct's voice, and he was smiling as he let his consciousness drift away, uncaring that Noct pulled the ring from his finger, claiming it as his birthright.

He'd _won_ , he thought as he slipped into the dark. He was still Noct's.


End file.
